Ok, so my wife and I have been test driving NBC’s new gimmick TV show, Fear Itself. The promo is that they’ve tapped some semi-named horror film directors to direct one-hour mini-movies, so each episode is directed by a different director and each is a self-contained short film.  As you might assume from the title, they’re supposed to be scary…supposed being the operative word here.

After two episodes, the show feels more like the directors trying to entertain their own whims rather than create and spin engaging thrillers.  In the case of last night’s episode–directed by John Landis and starring Maggie Lawson and James Roday of Psych fame (both of whom I find tremendously entertaining on their regular gig, which also might be my favorite series currently in production)–it felt more like Landis just mailed it in.  Like he sent a first year film school intern to do his job under Landis’s name.  The dialog was clunky, the performances were anything but genuine or believable (particularly from the supporting cast).  It’s almost offensive how dumb these directors must think the audience is if they think they can revert to the same old gags and gimmicks that every would-be horror director has used since the dawn of the the talkie. I expected much more from Landis, who has to his credit such creep-outs as An American Werewolf in London and Michael Jackson’s Thriller (granted that one isn’t really scary, but at least well made).

Pile onto this pile of debris the uber-lame “twist” endings that they’re all trying to pull off and you have the makings of a world-class flop fest spread out over the course of the summer weeks.  For example, in Landis’s episode, Lawson’s character is about to marry Roday’s character (aptly named Carlos…because when I see James Roday I immediately think Latino…??).  Minutes before the ceremony, Lawson receives a mysterious note by way of her bride’s maid, who received it from the hard-of-hearing priest (played by William B. Davis, best known as Cancer Man from the X-Files), who received it from a mysterious woman in a red head scarf.  The note warns Lawson that her soon-to-be-husband is a serial killer.

Well, since the authenticity of this note and the validity of its contents certainly can’t be questioned–ya know, considering the certainty of the source and all–she immediately goes into “flip out” mode and almost calls off the wedding.

Long story short, she goes through with the wedding, proceeds to suspect her new husband, who has suddenly turned into over-the-top-I-might-be-a-serial-killer-man complete with sinister laugh, and the two ultimately end up back in the church, in the confessional (each in their own booth), for the big reveal and final showdown.  After much whining and whimpering on Lawson’s part, and much pseudo-sinisterness from Roday, it’s time for the big twist, which is…

Lawson is the serial killer.  The note was meant for Carlos (Roday).

Now, you’re missing the full impact of this ridiculous turn of events because there’s much context that you have to understand in order to really get how lame and incoherent this was, but you get the idea.

So needless to say, Fear Itself is a definite must-miss, unless you’re hoping to practice up on your MST3K chops. I’m not impressed, and judging from the two episodes I’ve seen, maybe the show’s whole existence is little more than an exercise in self-congratulations on the part of the directors (or a thinly veiled insult to viewers who the directors assume aren’t smart enough to tell the difference).

I hate to reduce this blog to being yet another viral video distributor, but I saw this ad on E! last friday and it is a must see. I’ll let it speak for itself:

Well it’s official.  Today, June 20, is the happiest day of the year.  You can’t even argue the claim…they have a formula to back it up!

O + (N xS) + Cpm/T + He

O stands for being outdoors and outdoor activity, N is connection with nature, which is in full bloom now, S is socialisation with neighbours and friends, Cpm stands for childhood positive memories, T is the mean temperature which is now usually warm, and He is holiday expected.

Apparently the British government has more grant money than it knows what to do with.

I’d like to make one minor correction to the formula however:

O + (N xS) + Cpm/T + He + Jb/Ja

Jb stands for Jon’s Birthday (yes…I’m **mumble mumble** years old today) and Ja represents Jon’s age.  As you can see, my birthday adds to the day’s overall happiness, but it decreases in proportion with my age.

I’m applying for a 500,000 dollar pound British government grant for further research.

Unearthed? Shouldn’t it be unmarsed?

Still, ice on Mars.  That’s pretty cool…hey wait a second!  I’ve seen this movie!

It’s common practice for me, when sitting in church, to help one or both of my kids to find the hymns in the hymnal and help them sing along. This serves to entertain both me and the child for a few precious minutes, which anyone who takes kids to church can tell you, is worth all the gold in Solomon’s Temple (and is a topic worthy of another post entirely). I let the child in question hold the book open while I point to the words in time to the music like one of those bouncing balls in a sing-along video.

The last time this took place, the hymn happened to be #109, The Lord My Pasture Will Prepare, which is a fine hymn of prayer and supplication until you get to the second verse which begins as follows:

When in the sultry glebe I faint…

For the slightest moment, my finger hesitated here, trying to make out what exactly it was pointing at and thinking “Huh? Glebe?” Yes, glebe. A sultry one no less. So sultry, in fact, that it has apparently caused me to swoon.

You are probably asking yourself now, “what the heck is a glebe?” My answer would be: I have no idea. I’m pretty sure it’s a noun. It sounds like shorthand for “gleaming the cube” which would make perfect sense, if skateboarding had become popular somewhere around 1672, when Joseph Addison, the hymn’s author, was born. Unfortunately, skateboarding didn’t really take off until 1955 when, in a well documented event, Calvin “Marty” Klein invented the first skateboard by pulling the top off of a homemade scooter.¹

But I’ve gotten off track. “Glebe” is the topic at hand, and I want to know what it is. This may prove more difficult than I thought, though, because even now a little red dotted line is under it which indicates that even the spell checker is thinking, “huh?”

So, this could have been a “Word of the Moment”, but frankly, I don’t want to look it up. I find that I enjoy the sense of wonder. Instead, I thought a call for comments would prove more satisfying. I’d like to know what you think a “glebe” is. Or maybe not what you think it actually is but what you think it should be. I’d also like to know what other bizarre song lyrics you’ve come across. They don’t have to be from hymns, of course, though they do provide plenty of fodder. Just be careful. If your glebe gets too sultry you might come down with a case of the vapors.

^{1. References are for the ignorant.}

So, enough has already been said about Tiger’s truly amazing U.S. Open extra-innings victory over Rocco Mediate. But here’s the thing: it was amazing, but it wasn’t that hard to believe…yet.

Now it is.

A broken freaking leg?  Are you kidding me?

So I guess the PGA Tour is going to be pretty boring for the rest of the year. Even with Tiger in the field, it would be pretty hard to match the emotion of the Open, but now that Tiger’s season is over, I can’t even imagine caring much about what happens in the other events for the rest of the season.  I love golf.  But the thing for me is, I don’t much care to watch it, unless Tiger’s on the course.  I am a Furyk fan, and an Ernie fan.  It would be nice to see either of those guys get back up on top.  But without the drama that accompanies history’s greatest golfer (maybe history’s toughest athlete) from tee to green, without that sense of anticipation in wondering what astounding feat of will and skill will be on display this weekend, golf on TV loses much of its savor.

It’s a great day for the other players who want a shot at a Tour win; but for me, I’ll likely be getting my golf news from the headlines and clubhouse conversations for the rest of the year.

This doesn’t really surprise me, seeing that it comes from Sega, which, as a video game company, must surely understand the needs and desires of lonely men.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/25209226/wid/11915829?GT1=40006

I’m wondering what else she does. Does she nag you for coming home too late? Does she re-decorate your bathroom all in pink?

I am Atticusser. I need no introduction. At least not to the five of you (so far) who actually read this blog. Well, tough! You’re getting one anyway! Yes, I know I’m slow but I’m waaaaaaaaaay out here in North Carolina. I’m so far away in fact that the Earth actually rotates the opposite direction here. News doesn’t reach me very fast what with all the spam and adult content clogging up the internet tubes. So please to excuse my belatedness, but it is not my fault. We’re still using the Pony Express to deliver email in these parts. Plus, there’s global warming.

But on the the intro. Most days you can find me in a meeting or heading to a meeting or wondering whether I’m supposed to be in a meeting. You can also find me being in North Carolina, which I already pointed out but of which sometimes I have to remind myself. It is a different time here than where you are (unless you are also here, in which case can you tell me what time it is?) My nick is actually a nick of a nick. I actually prefer to go by Atticus. But as others have also experienced, just try to register the name “Atticus” on any service. Not gonna happen. Even Atticusser was taken on Yahoo, which was perplexing. It probably belongs to me but I don’t remember the password.

You won’t be hearing from me every day. But that’s OK. One less stream of consciousness “today I feel sleepy” post cluttering up the internet. I’m not going to complain about the price of gas unless I have something novel to add and I’m not going to tell you what’s on my IPod right now (but if you want to discuss my plans for the IPood, I am always available). My motto is “quality over quantity and in the absence of quality, celebrity endorsement”.

“I didn’t say garlic. I said Garlique!” - Larry King

If that doesn’t convince you, nothing will. Now don’t bother me. I’m in a meeting.

With all the questions about Tiger returning from surgery and the condition of his knee, who would have guessed that he would be forced to hold out for not the regulation 72 holes, not even the playoff 90 holes, but sudden death 91 holes, and he would win by one stroke with a final score of one under par for the tournament. One word: UNBELIEVABLE!

Bully for Rocco Mediate for giving the number one player in the world a genuine run, more than anybody ever has, I think. Rocco’s surely earned a lot of fans out there this week for being a great golfer, a personable fellow, and a real class act. Kudos to him on his performance this week.

My prediction of Tiger by seven ended up way off, but I have no reservation in saying that this was the single most exciting golf tournament I have ever watched. Great stuff. The PGA ought to be paying Tiger for what he’s surely doing for their ratings.

I joked during the sudden death, “When did the PGA start writing scripts to make their events so compelling?”
To which somebody responded, “They’re learning from the NBA.”

The guy’s got ice water in his veins. I’m going on record to suggest that with the pressure of the US Open tournament riding on one long putt, Tiger Woods is the only player on the tour that sinks that shot. The guy is amazing. I’m putting it on my list of dream to-do’s in my life to play 18 holes with him.

Oh, and by the way, he’s going to win the playoff today. My prediction is he wins by 7 strokes. What do you think?